Crash and Burn
by Gh057
Summary: It never storms like this in Death City. Why in the world was Soul Eater Evans on his motorcycle in this weather? Doesn't he know that he's bound to crash and burn with his meister perched on the back of his bike? But, perhaps, crashing and burning is just the motivation he lacked.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Soul Eater. But isn't it the best anime/manga ever?

**A/N: **Please read and review for me! ^^

.+*+.

* * *

><p>Overhead thunder crackled and sang. Lightning danced along beside it, illuminating the clouds that were weeping. Rain cascaded in sheets onto the earth, the gutters overflowing into the street. This was a storm the likes of which was unheard of in Death City, Nevada. For the most part, everyone had returned to their homes early. The shops were closed, lights off. An occasional window was lit by a television inside or a small lamp. The lanterns along the street were fighting against the rain, a vain attempt to keep the roads visible.<p>

A lone motorcycle flew through the storm, its passengers drenched down to the bone. A slender, gangly teen sat on the back over the wheel, her arms clutched desperately against the driver. The helmet she wore was a simple, full faced mask, pressing uncomfortably into the spine before it. The black trench coat she wore billowed behind them as they rode through the streets of Death City.

"Yo, Maka," the driver shouted over the wind. "We're almost home, just a couple more blocks."

All the meister could do was shiver in acknowledgement. The taste of luscious hot chocolate filled her mouth, she closed her vibrant green eyes, imagining sinking into a scalding bath with the book inside her backpack. _Oh Death, I hope it's not soaked and ruined, _she thought with a grimace.

The driver flexed his fingers against the handle bars, trying to warm the numbness out of them. The rain was plastering his clothes against his skin, he could feel every drop as it smacked against him. His stark white hair was even beginning to get wet from under the helmet as water managed to find a way inside. The visor of his helmet was beginning to fog. He cursed silently to himself as he flipped the safety glass up, bracing for the rain that came crashing into his face.

His meister gripped tighter against him. She wouldn't say anything but the weapon knew she was nervous, scared of crashing in this weather. He wanted to reassure her, they were so close to their tiny apartment, but he was too focused on getting Maka home safe to open his mouth again. Plus, the rain would gush inside and he didn't feel like drinking a gallon of that water.

He glanced up at lightning flashed across the sky, bolting down to the ground to strike a couple of miles ahead of them. He swore again to himself. Just two more block and they'd be home. Maka would make them hot chocolate, he could sit at the piano and play for her, an apology of sorts for having them out in this storm. They were so close, the Death Scythe could taste the marshmallows melting against his tongue.

The next lightning strike came all too sudden, too fast. And definitely way, way too close. The electricity zapped the lantern nearest them, sending sparks flying all through the rain. The sound was unreal. A loud, powerful, other-worldly boom that Soul felt jump through his veins. That blink of time was all it took, Soul felt the front wheel slip out of his control and tremble violently against the slick road. At least the rubber was trying to find a grip, trying to stay up. It was all in vain.

His stomach fell out from under him as panic made his crimson eyes grow large. "Maka!" he shouted, twisting his body unnaturally to try and grab her, to take the impact as the bike skidded across the asphalt. His gloved fingers reached out towards her but the weapon could only watch in horror as her jacket slipped through his grasp; Maka's face was frozen in a silent, horrific scream. Time slowed to a crawl.

The roar of the motorcycle's engine ate the thunder. The plastic body crackled, sending shrapnel shooting through the rain. Soul kept his eyes on his technician, ignoring the pain that licked up his legs as he was thrown to the ground.

With a terrifying crunch Maka hit the asphalt. Her slender arms bent at an odd angle, collapsing under the force of impact from where she'd stupidly thought to catch herself. Blood. Soul could only watch in anguish as her pristine skin peeled back from the friction. _Why did you wear a skirt today, you idiot, _he thought, the edges of his vision beginning to frost.

No. He would not go unconscious. With his second wind came a surge of adrenaline. Shakily Soul lifted himself up, no longer feeling any pain. "Maka!" he screamed, bolting to wear she lay, his motorcycle pinning her below it. "Oh Death, Maka. I'm so sorry," he sobbed, biting back the tears that threatened to escape. He all but threw his bike off of her body, relieved to see that she was still breathing. Her eyes were closed but he sighed in relief that her helmet was fully intact and other than being scuffed, appeared unharmed. However, the rest of her… The Scythe inhaled sharply, taking her in. Her right arm was twisted unnaturally, her breath was shallow and painful to watch. Road rash covered her legs, all the way up past her thigh and was trickling with warm blood. This was all his fault. "So uncool," he hissed, furious with himself.

Suddenly the sound of heels clicking frantically against the ground caught his attention. "Oh no! Maka-chan!" A busty woman ran towards them, worry flooding her golden eyes. "Bu-Tan was watching out the window for you to get home and play! She saw you crash!" Tears threatened to spill down her face. "Is Maka okay?" she reached out to help the meister up.

"No!" Soul snapped, swatting her hand away. "You aren't supposed to move someone once they've been in a crash, you could make it worse!"

Blair flinched away from him, clearly injured by his tone. She quickly turned her focus back to Maka. "What do I do?" she asked, panicky.

"Call Spirit," he ordered.

"How?"

"Get that stupid mirror out of your cleavage and dial Death. 42-42-564," Soul instructed.

The cat complied, pulling a small compact from her chest and using a finger nail to trace the glass. The Shinigami appeared in her reflection. "Yo, yo. Blair? This is quite the surpri—"

"Hello sex-kitten!" A red-headed male side-stepped the death god, peaking at Blair with a mischievous grin. "Did you call for some sweet lov—OW."

"Spirit," warned Shinigami, chopping the back of his death scythe's head. "What's the matter Blair?"

"It's Maka!" the cat wailed.

Suddenly, Spirit's eyes turned hard and serious. "What's happened to my baby?"

"Soul and Maka crashed in this storm! They're hurt really bad. Please come help Bu-tan!" she sobbed, unable to contain her tears any longer.

Spirit was gone before Death had even registered his weapon missing. "I'm sending help," he concluded their call.

.+*+.

Outside the Shibusen hospital wing, the storm raged on. The water pelted against the glass as if attempted to break in and drown everyone in the room. Shortly after Blair made the call to the DWMA, Soul's adrenaline had failed and he collapsed beside his meister. Now, he awoke to the sound of thunder shaking the room. The hospital bed underneath him felt plush and warm. Everything ached. Pain throbbed from the top of his head all the way down to his toes. "Ugh," he grunted, lifting himself up.

"OooOO~ Kiddo-kun, Soul's trying to get up!" a girlish voice sing-songed. Looking to his left he saw Patti Thompson, one of Death the Kid's weapons staring intently at him.

"Nuh uh, no you don't," her sister Liz said, gently pushing Soul back to the pillow.

"Wha'?" the white haired male protested, he wanted to see his partner. "Where is Maka?"

"Soul," his friend, the young Shinigami, stepped up to the edge of his bed. His fingers pressed together in a steeple. "Try not to worry about Maka. You're injured pretty badly. You need your rest."

Soul Eater Evans' steeled his resolve and pushed forward, shoving Liz off of him. "No, I need to see Maka," he snarled.

"I don't want to knock you out, Soul," Kidd responded, holding a syringe up for him to see. "Doctor Stein gave me this if you get unruly."

The crimson glare he gave his friend was full of venom. He gritted his teeth, flopping down. His arms crossed against the scar on his chest. "This is so uncool."

.+*+.

The hours ticked by. Soul realized that he had broken the femur bone in his leg when he'd fallen. Patti was content to draw animals all over the cast. After the first two times of scalding her, telling her to stop, he'd given up. He didn't have the energy to lecture the Thompson sister and he was too worried about Maka to care how uncool that cast was going to look.

"NO PATTI!" Kidd shouted, yanking a marker away from her, "It has to be symmetrical!" Sweat beaded on the Shinigami's forehead as he knelt beside the bed to fix his gun's error. Patti giggled obnoxiously behind him.

"How are you feeling Soul?" a voice from the door asked, smoke billowing around the man's face.

"Doctor Stein! Where's Maka? Is she okay?" Soul said, bolting upright in bed again only to be yelled at by Kidd for messing up his drawing and forced back onto the bed. The death god was certainly stronger than he looked.

"She'll be fine. We're monitoring her now, she just got out of surgery. She'll come up here for recovery."

_Surgery? Death… Maka I'm so sorry. I messed up so bad. _Soul ground his sharp teeth together, his fists balling.

"How are you feeling, Soul?" Franken Stein repeated, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

"Fine," he muttered uncaringly.

"Mhm," the instructor grunted in response.

.+*+.

Maka was wheeled into the room on a gurney about forty-five minutes later. Soul could have sworn it was hours instead. The scythe instantly felt a mixture of relief, knowing she was alive, and dread, seeing how bad of a condition she was in. "Maka!" he shouted as she was lifted onto the bed next to his. He threw Patti off his leg and hobbled over to his meister's side, jerking the tubing out of his arms to the annoyed protests of Marie who'd followed Maka in.

"Soul, you moron." Those emerald eyes stared up at him. Soul reached out to hold her hand. Maka Albarn's voice was weak, exhausted. "I'm going to Maka-Chop you if you don't get back in your bed." The threat was empty, and the weapon knew it, but he complied, allowing Marie to hook him back up to the machinery.

The weapon propped his head up underneath his palm so that he could face his meister. "Maka… I'm so sorry," he said through gritted teeth, unwilling to tear up in front of anyone.

"Soul…" she began to reply but the drugs being pumped into her arm caught her and her voice trailed away into the deep, even breaths of sleep. The technician was bandaged around her abdomen, she'd been in surgery because something inside her had ruptured from the impact of the bike crushing her. Bruises licked around what they could see of her arms; he winced thinking about what she looked like beneath the hospital gown.

Her wrist was wrapped in a bright, flamboyant pink cast. _So uncool, _he thought. Though surely Maka would enjoy the obnoxiousness of the brace. A few small stitches held together a tiny gash above her eyebrow—apparently the helmet hadn't completely saved her cranium.

"She'll be okay, Soul," a voice from just inside the room said, far too chipper and optimistic. A busty teen stood in the doorway, grinning supportively at him. Tsubaki Nakatsukasa.

Soul sucked in his breath, waiting to be pounced on by his male best friend, Black Star, who was always accompanying the demon weapon. He braced himself but the blue haired male didn't appear. "Uh, Tsubaki… Where's Black Star?"

The optimistic girl paled and her smile faltered. "Well…" she began with a deep breath. "He'll have to tell you the whole story but, err, he's with Sid-Sensei and Nygus."

As if on cue the bandaged woman sidestepped Tsubaki, dragging Black Star by his ear. "If I ever catch you trying to sneak into the operating room again, I swear to Shinigami-sama…" the medic snarled. She chucked the ninja towards Kidd. "You! You watch him!" she demanded, her voice raising.

Kidd blinked.

"Oi', I don' need no babysitter! Who do you think I am? I am the GREAT BLA—"

"Liz, Patti," Kidd instructed with a sigh.

"Aye!" the younger sister cheered, transforming into a gun with Liz, each respectively landing in a hand of the Shinigami. With a flick of his wrists, Kidd swung the guns around his fingers and aimed at Black Star.

"Sit down," he spat.

"H-hey Kidd!" the other meister began to protest as he compliantly sat next to Soul's bed. "I was just trying to see what was going on with Maka. Soul was so worried," he grumbled.

"You could have killed her! It needs to be a sterile environment for operation!" Nygus lectured.

"Moron," Soul said with a roll of his eyes. Deep down, he was very appreciative of his idiotic friend. Black Star cared so much about all of them, even if he was dense.

Mira Nygus rubbed her temples and let out a sigh. She turned towards the scythe lying in bed. "Maka is going to be okay. It'll take her a few weeks to recover fully. So no missions until then. Dr. Stein and I want you both here for a couple of days to monitor you and then we'll send you home. Maka got the worst of the crash but we still need to make sure you're functioning properly."

"Yeah, okay."

.+*+.

The next couple of days dragged on. By the second day, Maka was able to stay awake and chat for some time. They had constant visitors, Death himself even came to check on them. Spirit was never more than a couple rooms away, ready to fly into the room if his daughter even sighed.

Tsubaki diligently brought them their homework, which Soul did to fight away the boredom brought on by the dark, quiet room in the evenings. Kidd and the Thompson sisters came often, finishing drawing on his leg cast. It actually ended up looking pretty cool, with swirls of color and skulls drawn, in perfect symmetry of course, across the material. Crona visited once, chewing on her lip. She gave Maka and Soul a hug before running out of the room, tears flinging from her eyes as she yelled back at them, "I don't know how to deal with you being hurt!"

Soul watched the second hand of the clock on the wall tick slowly away as he threw his headband into the air and caught it again, over and over. The scythe was going stir crazy.

The odor of smoke assaulted his nostrils as Franken Stein sauntered into the room, Nygus and Marie in tow. "Alright, you two. We feel it's safe for you to go home. Kidd has arranged a car to transport you to your apartment. Spirit will be by to check on you this evening."

Soul groaned, the thought of dealing with Maka's overbearing father any longer made him feel exhausted.

Stein ignored his student's angst and leaned a pair of crutches against his bed. "Nygus or I will come around every day to make sure you both are doing well. Spirit… He will probably be around as much as he can." The meister looked away. "Sorry," he added as a genuine afterthought.

"Whatever," Soul grunted, grumpily.

.+*+.

Soul Eater Evans would never have assumed lugging his weight around on crutches would suck so much. He spent most of his moving time cussing and glaring at the devices under his arms. Blair took good care of them, which surprised the scythe. That cat really did seem to love her roommates, despite Soul having ate one of her souls when they first met.

"Bu-tan is going to work, just call if you need anything, mmkay?" she called to the living room, where Maka and her weapon were recovering in front of the television. A stack of books created a fort around Maka. She peered around the stack to shout a happy acknowledgement to Blair before burying herself back into the novel.

Soul flipped inattentively through the channels of the TV. He sat on one end of the couch, Maka's legs in his lap, his cast propped on the coffee table in front of him. Absently his stroked his free hand against her smooth skin. He couldn't bear to look directly at her. He now understood how she felt when he'd been sliced by the demon sword. Guilt racked him. His heart would race and pound every time his crimson eyes met her green ones, his memory filled with the frozen look of terror in them as the bike went down.

The sound of a book being slammed shut startled him, causing him to jump. "Well, that one is finished," Maka said, making the book another brick to her fort. She began to scroll through the titled she'd yet to touch. Spirit Albarn had spoiled her rotten with her accident, having bought her every single novel she'd requested and several which she hadn't. "Hey," she said her gaze turning to Soul. "Is the bike fixed yet?"

He looked at her with a frown. "No. I'm getting rid of it."

"What?!" she shouted, with way more vigor than expected from the injured lass.

"H-huh? I said I'm getting rid of it."

"No! Why would you do that?" she pushed her weight up and propped herself against a pillow so that she could look into her partner's face.

"Because… We crashed." His tone was nonchalant but his soul wavelengths were chaotic, frantic, scared, and guilty.

Maka glared at him. "You love that stupid bike!"

"So?"

"Soul," Maka began and her tone made Soul flip the television off so he could focus purely on her. "Are you blaming this on yourself?" she gestured to her injuries.

He chewed on his lip and shrugged in response.

"Soul," Maka repeated. "Don't be so uncool!" she used his coined term, "you did everything you could."

"No, Maka. I didn't. If we hadn't been out in that storm, if we'd just stayed home…"

"You idiot! You told me that! You said you wouldn't go out on the bike with that storm threatening." A leather-bound book was held menacingly in her grasp. "You said I was a moron for wanting to go to the book store. But I begged. _I, _me, said that there was no way it would storm like that in Death City. This is the desert, are you crazy?" she repeated her words from that night. "_I _hung around looking at all the books even though I heard the thunder. _I _convinced you that we'd be fine."

Soul's hands balled into fists, clutching at the pajamas on his legs. "The weapon is supposed to protect its meister," he growled, looking into her eyes.

"And you did. If I hadn't been so bossy. If I'd admitted to being wrong for once, we would have stayed home. We would have been fine. I told you that I was the meister, and the weapon always follows the meister." Shame colored her cheeks a deep crimson. "I don't want you to get rid of your bike," she concluded, looking down. She played absently with her pigtails, looking at the split ends.

"Maka," Soul began, his voice aching. "Maka you have no idea how scared I was. I couldn't—I _can't_ lose you." He pulled her hand away from her hair and held tightly, unwilling to let go.

"Soul…"

"No, Maka. I should have put my foot down. You almost died because of me."

The sudden impact of the spine of a book meeting his head sent stars scattering across his field of vision. "I almost died because of _me,_" she was shouting at her partner now. "You did everything right!"

Soul rubbed his head, hissing in pain from being chopped so hard. "Fuck, Maka," he growled through gritted teeth.

The meister smiled innocently at him as she opened the book that had been her club. "You shouldn't be so stupid."

"Yeah, well, neither should you!" he shouted back at her, yanking the book from her grasp. He dangled the script just out of her reach. "Maka, you're way too smart to be so stupid."

"Soul! Give it back!"

"No! I'm not listening to you, remember?" he gloated.

"That's not what I meant," she huffed, crossing her arms and pouting.

Soul adjusted himself, sitting straighter so he could look at her better. "I just can't lose you," he reiterated.

"And why not?" Maka said grouchily.

"Because," he said warmly, his eyes softening as he placed the book back in her lap. "You're my meister. My partner. My best friend. I couldn't live without you."

She ignored the book, instead focusing on his crimson gaze. She scrutinized his expression, scowling. "I don't want you to get of your bike because of something stupid like this."

"Okay," he agreed. Sometimes, with Maka Albarn, it was better to just pick your battles. This was one he could tell that he had lost long ago. "You know, you're really stubborn, tiny-tits." He pushed the tome closed towards her belly. "Read your stupid book."

"You're one to talk!" she snapped back as she gripped the hardcover.

He grinned toothily at her. "Lord Maka, I love you."

"What?" his meister said, tone faltering, taken aback.

Soul stumbled over his next few words, "I mean. Like, you're so uncool but so cool at the same time. You're the best partner any weapon could ask for. Uh, you make some really good food. And you care about everyone. I mean, who else would have given Crona a chance? And it's just," he rambled on, "you're the best person I know. So of course I love you. Everyone you know loves you." _Gah, you're so uncool,_ he thought to himself, aggravated.

"Oh," she whispered, gaze turning down at her book.

_Moron, moron_, he mentally kicked himself. _You're so uncool! Cool men are supposed to be suave. Way to go, idiot._ "Wait, Maka. Don't read yet."

"Soul!" Maka snapped. "You just told me to read. Make up your mind!"

_It's now or never Eater, get it together._ Suddenly Soul pushed himself up awkwardly, carefully lifting her legs away. He knelt on the edge of his knees, sitting awkwardly between her legs. He used him arms to support himself as he leaned over her, careful not to put any weight on her abdomen. He looked straight into her eyes, into her soul. He smelled the sweet strawberry scent of her shampoo, saw the faint purple lines under her eyes from where she'd stayed up reading. The stitches above her eyebrow were healing nicely. Without warning, his lips brushed over the two sews holding her skin together to minimize scarring. "Maka," he said huskily. "I love you, just like everyone else. But I love you in a completely different way as well." The meister held her breath, trembling under her weapon. "I," he paused, "I am _in_ love with you. I've _fallen in love_ with you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Not just as your weapon or your partner but as…" he was cut short by her lips crashing up into his. He blinked, startled and almost pushed away as if it were a joke but instead he let himself melt into her kiss. His hand cupped the back of her head gingerly, the other propping himself over her.

"MAKA, darling! Your most wonderful Papa is here," the front door swung open abruptly. The tall, red headed death scythe strolling into the living room with Blair in tow, still in her Chupa Cabra uniform. "…OH DEAR LORD NO! MAKA! Get off my precious daughter you monster!" he screamed, tackling Soul off of the couch, sending him crashing to the floor with a dastardly crash.

The cat blinked at the scene in front of her and side stepped into the kitchen, watching from the safety of the door frame. "Oi', get off me Gramps," Soul hissed, writhing under the weight of Maka's father.

"Papa!" Maka shouted, sitting up, gritting her teeth at the pain it caused her. "Leave Soul alone!"

"He's defiling you!"

"I kissed him, Papa!"

"You what?" Spirit sobbed, his hand (turned into a blade) dangerously close to Soul's face.

"I kissed him," Maka said, holding her book up, ready to smash it into her father if she even thought he was making a move to hurt her weapon. She looked at Soul. "I love him," she stated simply, with a ridiculous grin. Soul turned red, the blush burning up his neck. He smirked back at Maka. They were the only two in the room. His heart soared, with more affection than he thought that he'd ever feel.

"No!" Spirit sobbed once more.

"Pum-Pump Pumpkin cannon!" Blair trilled, launching the death scythe off of Soul just as he was about to sock him in the jaw. She grinned triumphantly, her tail swishing. "Sorry! But Blair has waited for them to admit their feelings for forever! Come on, Spirit, let's go get some fresh air!" she waved her finger and a pumpkin appeared underneath Maka's papa and as she turned towards the front door, it followed her, lugging the trembling Spirit with it.

The door closed with a slam, leaving Maka staring, wrapping her mind around everything. Soul burst into laughter as he lifted himself off the ground and back onto the couch. "He'll get used to it. I love you, after all," he said simply, helping Maka adjust herself into a comfortable position once more.

The meister grinned at him and quickly gave him a peck on his lips as he bent over her to fix her pillow. They both turned crimson.

.+*+.

It would be a long recovery until they could go on a mission again. But as the weeks past, Soul found himself grinning every time he thought of his motorcycle, smiling in a way completely different than just enjoying the feeling of the engine under him as he drove through Death City. Months came, and years followed. Soul often wondered if he ever would have admitted his feelings to Maka if they hadn't had gotten in that wreck.

And then, one day, he carried his meister in her beautiful, ivory gown to the back of that same bike that's almost killed her, and placed her on the back of it. As he swung his leg around the motorcycle, he paused. He stroked the handle bars and murmured a quiet thanks to the machine. Because it really was the reason that, that day, Maka Albarn became Maka Evans.

* * *

><p>.+*+.<p>

**A/N: **I hope you like the second Soul Eater fic that I've published! I really appreciate all reviews, so please take a minute to let me know what you think! ^^


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